


Not the only one

by SilentRain91



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, One-Shot, Read with care, can be triggering, involves self-harm, told from Lexa's pov, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentRain91/pseuds/SilentRain91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“what’s that on your wrist?” Shocked to have been caught, she jumps up and turns around. Clarke is looking directly at her. With a rush of panic she says, “I-it… was my cat, h-he likes t-to play.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the only one

**Author's Note:**

> If this is triggering for you, it is better not to read it.

Lexa slowly walks towards her school. It’s raining today, but she forgot to bring her umbrella, which isn’t the first time. At least she remembered to bring her backpack. She arrives early, like she always does, despite taking her time to get there. From what she sees, the schoolyard is rather empty, as per usual. She makes her way towards a bench, somewhere in the shadows, casted by a tree. The rain seeps through her clothes, making her shiver, but she’s used to being cold. Once again, it is nothing new.

More students arrive at school, trickling in one by one. They rush towards corners, hiding underneath their umbrellas. She ignores the few people who stare at her like she’s a freak. After what feels like hours, the school bell finally rings. She gets up from the bench she was sitting on, dripping from all the rain, but she doesn’t care.

The other students from her class swarm around Clarke, the most popular girl of her class and probably even the most popular girl of the entire school. Not that she can blame people for liking the blonde so much, because Clarke is attractive and smart. She is relieved that she’s as good as invisible for everyone. At least that way nobody ever bothers her. She’s nonexistent for others and that’s fine. Sometimes she wishes Clarke would notice her.

She shrinks into herself when Clarke glances at her briefly, before whispering something into Octavia’s ear, who is standing right beside her. Octavia is Clarke’s best friend. Compared to the blonde, the brunette looks like a regular girl, albeit cute. Clarke always seems to be covered with makeup and she wears a lot of jewelry, mostly bracelets, from what she has seen. She sees Octavia smiling, nodding and whispering something back to Clarke. It unsettles her and makes her feel slightly uncomfortable, as she thinks they’re probably talking about her. She looks down to the ground, feeling defeated.

It’s pretty much an ordinary day at school, where she zones out during classes, while being ignored anyway. Even to the teachers she seems to be invisible. Maybe if she wouldn’t show up one day, they wouldn’t even notice. She wonders if anyone would care if one day she would be gone, just like that. Probably not, by the time they notice, if they would notice at all, they would throw a party for good riddance. She’s an obstacle in people’s lives, an inconvenience. It makes her wonder why she was ever born in the first place.

Clarke appears to be sketching again during class. It helps to calm her thoughts when she watches her, looking so peaceful and concentrated, completely engrossed in her drawings. A few times she has caught glimpses after classes, when the blonde didn’t close her sketch book fast enough. She wonders if there’s anything Clarke isn’t good at, because she seems to be amazing at everything she does, even her smile is perfect.

The last two hours she has gym, which is the class she dreads the most. It’s saddening because she used to truly love gym, but sporting here at school with the other students isn’t an option. She wishes she could simply enjoy it, but she can’t because her gym class makes it difficult for her to hide her cuts and there are many to hide. Her arms are littered with them, all the way from her wrists to her upper arms.

Nervously, she walks up to the gym teacher, preparing yet another excuse. Her excuses never end, she wasn’t always such a liar, but she can’t tell the truth. With a shy voice she asks her gym teacher, “Miss, can I keep my sweater on?” She can’t take it off due to her cuts. “I’m cold.” It’s a reasonable excuse, since her sweater is still soaked from the rain, after she had spent her lunch break out in the rain as well.

Her gym teacher curiously looks at her, sizing her up with her eyes, likely seeing how much she is shivering and she must pity her, even though she doesn’t want anyone’s pity. Finally her gym teacher answers her. “Okay Lexa, you can keep your sweater on this time, but next time you should bring some spare clothes. You can’t always walk around in drenched clothes, it will make you sick.”

She feels relieved, knowing she has fresh cuts from last night all over her arms, which are stinging, but she can deal with that pain. Other pain, not so well, but the cuts she can handle. It’s her way of coping, her way of getting through each day. In her mind she already makes up an excuse for next week. Sometimes she forgets her gym shoes, other times her gym clothes. She has had fake stomach aches, fake headaches, fake dizziness and the list doesn’t stop there. Something tells her that her gym teacher probably doesn’t care either way.

As the gym class begins, she notices that some of the other students also decided to keep their sweater on because of the cold. The weather is in her favor now that it’s autumn. Summer on the other hand, is like her sworn enemy, because wearing sweaters when the sun is burning high is torture, but that hadn’t stopped her during the summer. She feels a wave of relief, knowing other students won’t question why she’s keeping her sweater on, since it’s not just her.

The gym teacher is putting everyone in pairs of two, much to her dismay because she doesn’t want anyone to be stuck with her. Whoever gets saddled up with her will hate her anyway. She is surprised when the gym teacher pairs her with Octavia, because usually Clarke always teams up with Octavia. Apparently the gym teacher wants to mix things up for a change.

She bites her bottom lip as the gym teacher hands out rackets, to play a game of tennis, one on one. While turning around, she sees Octavia walking up to her. The brunette hands her the tennis ball and says “here, you can start.” She simply nods and accepts the ball, unsure what it means when Octavia smiles at her.

She tries not to look at Clarke while playing tennis with Octavia, figuring the blonde is probably annoyed that she’s paired up with her best friend. After playing for a while, the tennis ball rolls under a tree a bit further away, on her side. She runs after it to go get it, not noticing that Clarke is also running to go get it.

She stretches her arm out as she crouches down, reaching out for the tennis ball. The action causes her sleeve to shift, revealing some of the cuts on her wrist. Suddenly she hears a voice behind her asking “what’s that on your wrist?” Shocked to have been caught, she jumps up and turns around. Clarke is looking directly at her. With a rush of panic she says, “I-it… was my cat, h-he likes t-to play.” She can see the blonde staring her as if she doesn’t believe her, and that’s understandable because her excuse is lame.

Clarke doesn’t say anything anymore and simply stares at her, making her fidget with her sweater. She should have been more careful, in the years she has been doing this she never got caught, not once. Out of all people, the blonde caught her. Clarke’s silence is unnerving, because it feels like silence before the storm.

The gym teacher blows her whistle, signaling the class is over and they’re free to go home. She is relieved this day is over and quickly grabs her backpack, hurrying out of school, never staying a second longer than needed. While walking past an alley, she feels someone grasping her arm and when she turns around to pull away her eyes meet blue. It makes her nervous to know Clarke has followed her.

She wants to disappear as the blonde crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Now tell me, what really happened to your wrist?” In a quick rush she answers, “I told you, it was my cat.” Again with the weak excuse, but she used it, so she has to stick to it.

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t believe you, Lexa.”

She wants to walk away, away from the blonde and away from the confrontation. It’s like a nightmare. This is not how anyone was ever supposed to find out. Clarke is the most popular girl at school, so surely the blonde will gossip about it, letting the whole school know exactly what she does. Before she can take a step to walk away, Clarke grasps her wrist and rolls up her sleeve, slowly, as if she’s carefully peeling a layer off. Her heart drops to her stomach.

Now Clarke can see all the cuts that litter her arm, and this is only one of her arms. Her other arm isn’t particularly better. Shocked by what the blonde did, she pulls her arm away. Tears well up in her eyes, and she mentally curses herself for it, because she doesn’t want anyone to see her cry, especially not Clarke.

She wants to run far away, to escape from what has to be a nightmare, because she doesn’t want this to be real. Nobody will miss her when she’s gone and she should have been gone already. It would do everyone a favor, to have one less person, breathing in air every day that others can use more, because other people’s lives matter more than hers. She feels alone in the world, with no place where she belongs. This is the way her life will always be, it won’t get better. Nobody will ever understand what she feels inside, or why she does the things she does.

When she turns on the ball of her foot to run, Clarke stops her and says, “Lexa, wait…” Her eyes are glassy when she looks at the blonde and tilts her head, wondering what Clarke wants from her. She can see that the blonde’s hands are shaking, while tears seem to threaten to spill from her eyes. Clarke seems upset, but she doesn’t know why. Why would those beautiful blue eyed blonde cry?

The blonde rolls up her own sleeve and she watches her. She sees Clarke taking her bracelets off one by one; too many bracelets for her to count, as if the blonde was trying to decorate her arms with jewelry. When Clarke is done taking them off, she gasps, barely believing what she’s seeing with her own two eyes and believing her ears even less upon hearing the words the blonde says to her.

“You’re not the only one, Lexa and you’re not alone.”

For the first time in a very long time, she believes that maybe, just maybe, she’s not as alone as she thought she was. Others around her can hurt, too. Perhaps she doesn’t have to carry this on her own anymore, and neither should Clarke. The words keep playing through her mind. She’s not the only one, that’s clear by now and she’s not alone, which means, well, it probably means the blonde doesn’t want her to go through this alone.

Seeing cuts on Clarke’s arms is different than seeing cuts on her own arms. When she does it to herself it seems normal because she’s used to it. For her it is almost as natural as sleeping and eating, something she needs every day. Knowing that the blonde cuts as well pains her, and not only because it’s Clarke. The idea of someone else doing that to themselves makes her shiver. It’s ironic how she feels this sudden urge to help the blonde and possibly others, too. She can’t stand the thought of someone doing this to themselves, yet she has done it to herself for so long.

Whatever she does and wherever she is, she will never be alone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote about two years ago, long before I watched the 100. I recently found it and switched the names.


End file.
